In Sweat and Blood
by LetsSingtheDoomSong
Summary: Thorain was running from everyone it seemed until she got to Skyrim. Daughter of the Listener and her mother's former Speaker in the Dark Brotherhood, she tries to find her way to familiarity only to find it not exactly as it seems when she finds out she's the Dragonborn. (Unsure of who I'm going to marry her off to eventually. Whoever reads this can help decide.)


Dymond: I'm going to be working on this story with my Dunmer Thorain since I had a lot of fun with her and my headcanon that she is the daughter of my Oblivion Dunmer character Mahariel and Lucien LaChance. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(Squiggles like to shout Fus Roh Dah!)

Her head throbbed worse than a hangover after a night of drinking ale and mead and if the goose-egg on the back of her head wasn't the cause of it, she didn't know what was. Dizziness and nausea overtook her senses from the rocking, forcing her to swallow it down so she wouldn't get sick all over the Nord's boots seated across from her. She didn't remember much up to the point when she got struck, but all she knew was that she was in the back of a cart and she was the odd-man out being a Dunmer surrounded by Nords.

The Nord she nearly was sick on was a blonde man with a braid down one side of his face and a tan complexion from Skyrim's sunny weather. Probably worked outside most of his childhood and looked comfortable in his armor unlike others that she's seen back in Cyrodiil, a boy by no means. He had a neat trimmed beard, blonde just like his hair and blue eyes that were focused on the road ahead of the cart.

The Nord seated next to him was brunette and looked worse for wear with bruises and blood staining his face. He was darker than the others and almost could pass for a Breton or a Redguard, but his size gave him away as a Nord. He was dressed in rags, the same as her which were starting to itch, but she couldn't itch at them since her hands were bound in front of her.

The last Nord, someone who was either a noble or in a position of power or both, was tied and gagged unlike the rest of them. His fine furs and well-made armor screamed noble, maybe a Thane or even a Jarl.

"Hey you!" Her attention was drawn to the Nord seated across from her. "You're finally awake," He said with a smile. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there." He was talking about the Nord in rags.

She nodded, chosing not to say much. She didn't remember much after reaching Darkwater Crossing, but she did remember why she was running. She remembered clearly as her brothers and sisters of Sithis burned and were struck down by the Imperial guards as their sanctuaries were destroyed one by one. She knew not of the fate of the corpse of the Night Mother, but she begged Sithis that she was safe in the hands of the Keeper. She was told to run by her mother, the Listener, before they overtook the Night Mother's tomb.

She had no idea how she escaped, but she had an feeling that her mother was the cause of it. Her mother was surely dead now. That was little over two years ago. Two years of running before they finally caught up to her forcing her to try and run to Skyrim.

"Damn you, Stormcloaks!" The thief growled at the blonde. "Skyrim was _fine_ until you came along. Imperials were nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I would have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to say something to blonde, ask him his name, but the horse thief cut in again. "You there, you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"You think so?" She asked. "And do you really know me?" The thief didn't know how to respond and opted to not answer.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," The blonde Nord said.

"Shut up, back there!" Their carriage driver shouted uncaringly.

"What's up with him?" The thief asked, gesturing to the gagged man seated next to her. She was wondering the same, but didn't want to ask.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" The blonde exclaimed like he truly believed the words.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion? But if they captured you... Oh Gods! Where are they taking us?!"

She smiled at her correct guess: A Jarl of all things tied up in the back of a car with her - an assassin -, the horse thief and a soldier fighting in a rebellion. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits. What's your name?" The blonde Nord asked.

"Thorain," She answered. "And you?"

"Ralof."

"What about you, horse-thief?" She didn't necessarily care, but she'd like to know the men she was more than likely going to die with.

"L-Lokir."

"What village are you from, horse-thief?" Ralof asked the Lokir.

"Why do _you_ care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." Truer words had never been spoken and she thought of the Santuary she had grown up in back in Cheydinhal.

Her mother, the Listener, said that she had come to the Sanctuary years prior and there were completely different faces (apparently Arquen's face she was still more than content with punching in the face and skinning her alive if she didn't need a Speaker but apparently it was just the two of them left after a massacre. She didn't grieve when she died). She also said that she was the last gift the Night Mother ever gave to her of the man she loved which made no sense to her since she had never met her father nor really knew who he was.

She didn't quite catch where the horse-thief was from but took notice of the walls and gates of a city. "Where are you from?" Ralof asked her, but she ignored him, watching the gates get closer with each passing moment.

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" She heard someone shout.

"Good, let's get this over with."

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynerath, Akatosh. Divines, please help me!" Lokir prayed desperately.

"Your Gods will not want anything to do with what is about to happen, Lokir," Thorain said. "Leave them out of this." They passed through the gates and the first thing she noticed were three people atop horses. An Imperial general, a soldier to his right and an agent of the Thalmor across from him.

"Look at him: General Tullius, the military governor," Ralof spat, glaring in Tulius' direction. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves..." She shot him a look and he quickly said, "I mean the Thalmor of course! Not all elves." She looked around the quaint little city, watching people come out of their homes to see the condemned roll by in carts like this was a parade.

"This is Helgen," Ralof explained. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in? Funny, when I was a boy Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

"And now we're all about to die within them," Thorain commented.

The first cart stopped just before a tower and they pulled up right next to them. "Why are we stopping?" Lokir whimpered, clearly not hoping for a certain answer.

"Why do you think?" Ralof asked. "End of the line."

"I guess it was nice knowing you, for the brief period we knew each other," She faked a smile that Ralof returned. _Well_, she mused, _at least I get to die with the face of a handsome Nord on my mind._

One by one, the lept off the back of cart while Lokir tried to plead his case which fell on deaf ears, standing in a huddled group while the Captain of the Guard and an Imperial soldier waited, the soldier holding a clipboard in his hand. "Step towards the block when you hear your name. One at a time!" The captain ordered.

"Empire loves their damn lists..." Ralof muttered earning a half-assed smirk from Thorain.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." Ulfric stepped up and walked toward the executioner's block with his head held high. He was prepared to die with his men which almost made Thorain feel pity for him if she wasn't about to die as well.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof said bowing his head in respect for the man.

"Ralof of Riverwood." Ralof stepped off, giving Thorain one last passing glance. She swallowed thickly at the thought of Ralof dying. He seemed too... kind to deserve the headsman's axe, but he had enough strength to see this through to the end. As he passed the man with the clipboard, he threw a glare in his direction and it became apparent that the two knew each other. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Lokir shouted, staggering up to the man and the Captain. The man shoved Lokir away. "You're not gonna kill me!" He shouted as he broke into a sprint down the road they just came. Thorain shook her head - gutless to the end, Lokir was. Archers easily shot him down at the captain's command and he died face-first on the cobblestone road. Not a graceful way to go.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The captain sneered but received no answer.

The man looked at his clipboard than back up at Thorain before gesturing to her. "Wait, you, step up." She obeyed and stood only about two feet from the Nord in Imperial armor. "Who are you?" Now she was confused.

"Thorain," She answered honestly.

"Another refugee? Gods really have abandoned your people, Dark Elf," He said, honestly apologetic and sympathetic for the fate of her people, not that she knew. She was born in Cheydinhal, not Morrowind. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list." There was a brief moment of hope that maybe she wasn't going to die here after all.

"Forget the list. She goes to the block."

The man looked genuinely distressed at this, but resigned, "By your orders, captain. I'm sorry," He said to me next. "We'll make sure your remains are returned to Morrowind."

"Actually could you return them to Cheydinhal? That was where I was born," She asked and he nodded. She straightened her back and made her way to the group awaiting for their heads to be chopped off. It was easy to see that Ulfric was going to go last: watch all his men die before he himself is killed to live with the guilt of starting this war even in the afterlife.

She stood next to Ralof, a familiar face before she was beheaded. He looked at her and nudged her arm as if to say _I'm here_. The reason she was arrested shouldn't be why she was here. If they knew of her affiliations, then they had every right to execute her, but being caught nearby a Stormcloak escort and Jarl Ulfric himself? Seemed like a load of bullshit.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," General Tullius said, standing directly in front of the gagged Jarl. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." The Voice? What did he mean by that? Not that I was going to find out since I was about to die.

Ulfric could only give a muffled grunt in response. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace." _Something_ echoed through the mountains and valleys that sounded way too loud to be any animal I had hear - the roar or something of that nature.

"What was that?" The man who had spoken to me before asked, looking around.

"It's nothing. Carry on," Tullius dismissed.

"Yes, General Tullius. Give them their last rites," The captain ordered the Priestess of Arkay who began her sermon.

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved..."

She was interupted by a Stormcloak soldier stepping up and shouting, "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with."

"As you wish," She said, a little miffed that she couldn't finish her sermon. Save it for those who care, sister.

"Come on! I haven't got all morning!" He shouted at the captain who pushed him to his knees and used her foot to place his neck over the block. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" He asked before the large axe swung down on his neck, severing his head from his body. It was over before anyone could react and the captain pushed his body off to the side, not bothering to have anyone come collect it.

The man, Hadvar she would learn later, looked pale at the sight, but kept himself together. "As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof muttered, lowering his head in respect for the dead.

"Next, the Dark Elf!" The captain called out, making Thorain swallow hard.

She glanced over at Ralof and said, "I'll see you on the otherside, I guess." The same roar from before echoed again, this time seeming to be closer.

"There it is again. Did you hear that?" Hadvar asked his captain who brushed it off again.

"I said: Next prisoner." Thorain held her chin up and approached the block, gazing warily down at the body of the Stormcloak who bravely went to his death. He was still warm as she was pushed to her knees and a foot placed on her back to hold her in place. She stared at the executioner, large axe poised and ready to take her head off. She thought of her mother: of how bravely she had fought before the guards had struck her down giving her daughter time to make her escape.

_Something_ flew around the mountains, large black and winged which made Tullius shout, "What in Oblivion is that?!"

Before anyone could react, that large something landed on the tower behind them and for a brief moment, Thorain already thought she was dead because there was no way this was real. A real, live, fire-breathing _dragon_ was perched on the tower. The executioner moved away from the dragon, leaving her still poised on the block too shocked to move.

Several shouts of an unknown force came from the dragon, destroying buildings and scattering the people. Tullius shouted for his guards to get the towns people to safety, while Thorain felt a hand on her arm. "Thorain, get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!" It was Ralof who had somehow managed to get his hands free for the time being. He pulled her to her feet and guided her towards the nearby toward to try and take shelter from the dragon.

Several Stormcloaks were already inside, including Jarl Ulfric when they staggered inside, slamming the door shut behind him. "Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof exclaimed. "What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric answered and a cold chill settled through Thorain's bones: She wasn't dreaming and she wasn't dead, there was a real dragon burning down the town of Helgen and killing its people. "We need to move! Now!"

"Sir, they're too hurt to move!" A Stormcloak soldier shouted, tending to two wounded Stormcloak women.

"Just leave us! Don't sacrifice your lives for us!" One shouted and the other nodded, too weak to say anything.

Ralof had a grip on Thorain's arm again and pulled her toward the stairs. "Up through the tower, let's go!" He ushered and she allowed him. She wasn't much use with her hands still bound and there wasn't a knife available to cut her loose. At the top of the stairs was a cave in that blocked their access.

"We just need to move some of these rocks," A soldier said, hefting a few rocks out of the way. Thorain nearly stumbled back down the stairs when the wall to her right was broken through to reveal the dragon's head.

"Get down!" She shouted, looping her tied wrists around Ralof's neck throwing him into the nearby wall to block any sort of fire damage he may receive with her own body. She was a Dark Elf and used to such heat, but he was a Nord and in no way would he be able to bare it.

The dragon flew away to destroy some other part of the town and they made their way to the hole it made. Across the way was a burning building which was their only means of escape since their first way was now blocked by a ton of rubble. "See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!" Ralof ordered, gesturing to the burning building.

"Are you nuts?" She shouted over the dragon's screeching.

"Go! We'll follow when we can!"

She groaned at the stubborness of Nords and ran for the hole in the wall. She launched herself by the pure power of her legs and landed safely on the other side, only for her to loose balance since she couldn't use her hands. She staggered and stumbled until she fell through a hole in the floor, coughing as the wind was knocked out from her lungs when she connected with the floor below.

Ever so gingerly, she made it to her feet and ran out of the burning inn. "Don't look up! Focus on me! Come on!" She heard the familiar voice of Hadvar shout. He was crouched, gesturing to a little boy to come to him frantically. "Haming, you need to get over here, NOW! That a boy! You're doing great!" The boy rushed to Hadvar and slammed into the Nord's stomach just as his father was roasted alive by the dragon. "Thorolf! Gods... Everyone! Get back!" Hadvar ordered, rushing back with Haming clutched precariously in one arm and a sword in his open hand.

They ducked behind the remains of a building as the dragon tried to torch them from its position, but failing to do so and flew off. She glanced back at the inn only to see no sign of Ralof or Jarl Ulfric or anyone for that matter. "Still alive, prisoner?" Hadvar questioned when he noticed Thorain crouched behind him. "Keep close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar," Gunnar said, tucking young Haming under his arm.

"Follow me!" Hadvar ordered, taking the lead through the burning and destroyed city. They ran along the city wall and pressed themselves against it just as the dragon landed on the wall, not noticing them.

Thorain could feel her blood pumping through her ears as the impact knocked her off her feet and into Hadvar who wrapped his arm around her chest and pulled her in tight to avoid detection from the thing from legends. The dragon took off again and Hadvar pulled her to her feet. "Come on! Quickly!"

They passed through several destroyed homes and burning walls, taking note of a few of the dead guards that littered the ground due to this dragon. "It's you and me, prisoner! Keep close!" She didn't need to be told twice. Keeping up with Hadvar was easy at this point since her lungs didn't feel like they were on fire anymore. She was more than ecstatic to see Ralof come sprinting through a destroyed portion of the wall.

"Ralof!" She called out, catching his attention.

"Ralof! You damn traitor! Out of my way!" Hadvar growled, every bit of malice and hate spewed into the words. A serious history between the two.

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time!" Ralof shouted back.

"Fine, I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!"

"Come on, into the Keep," Ralof said over the dragon again and Thorain followed willingly while Hadvar ran off to a different portion of the Keep. She felt a little sorry for leaving Hadvar alone, but Ralof had pulled her ass out of the dragon's way. "I can cut you loose inside, come on!" Ralof exclaimed, shouldering open the Keep doors.

She slipped inside and helped him close the door behind them. There was a dead Stormcloak soldier across from the doors, heavily wounded and looking like he had just died, that he may have survived if they had gotten there only a few moments sooner. "We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother," Ralof remorsed, kneeling next to his fallen comrade. "Looks like we're the only ones who made it."

"Cut me loose, please," Thorain begged gesturing to her wrists.

"Come here," He said, standing up and pulling a small dagger from his boot. One clean cut and she was free, rubbing her wrists from the rope burn. "That thing was a dragon. No doubt. Just like the children's stories and the legends. The harbingers of the End Times."

"Great..." Thorain groaned, glancing up at several tremors that shook the Keep's very foundations.

"You may as well take Gunjar's gear. He won't be needing it anymore," Ralof said, gesturing to his fallen comrade. Thorain hesitantly took Gunjar's axe, but decided to leave him some decency by leaving his cuirass and boots on. "Aren't you going to take the armor?" He asked as she gave the waraxe a few test swings.

"I've never been one for armor. Leather, yes, chainmail, no."

They ducked out of the way of the door, hearing voices coming down the hallways. They were boxed in with no where to go so that left them little choice but to fight and maybe get the key from one of the Imperials. Lo and behold, in came the Imperial Captain that was more than content to cut off her head instead of letting her live because she wasn't on the list.

The familiar bloodlust flooded through her very senses as she struck down the Imperial Captain, feeling the whispers of her Unholy Matron in her ear as the killing hand of Sithis guided her moves. She felt at home again after nearly two years of running for her very life. She was in Skyrim in the midst of a dragon attack with a Nord who was eager to help her escape and despite everything - it was a new life. No one knew who she was, no one knew her past and no one would know lest she say anything and there was no way she was going to.

When they finally made out of the Keep and into crisp clean air, Thorain nearly sobbed for joy falling to her knees after the dragon had disappeared to roost elsewhere. Ralof laughed with joy as well, leaning against a boulder. Both were dirty, exhausted and in need of a nice warm meal and sleep.

"Come. Imperials will be swarming these hills in no time. Let's make our way to Riverwood. My sister, Gerdur, will help us."

"If that means a bed and a warm meal, you could lead me to the ends of the Tamriel for all I care."

Ralof chuckled and reassured, "Not so extreme, my friend."

He lead the way down the path, passing Skyrim's beautiful landscape that in no way reminded her of Cheydinhal. A fox ran across their path, chasing several butterflies. Ralof chatted on, giving her a brief history and the names of locations visible from their trail until they came across some tall stones with etchings inscribed on their fronts with what looked like a thief in robes, a mage and a warrior with a battleaxe.

She ran her hand over the stone with the thief etched on the front and felt a slight buzz through her fingers as the stone's magic flooded through her. "The Thief? Not too late to change your mind," Ralof said, crossing his arms. She only smiled and gestured for him to lead the way again.

Riverwood was a bit more than she expected with it's large wall with guard towers, but no guards. This town was unprotected from what she could see, but it looked peaceful as townsfolk wandered around doing their day-to-day routine. A Bosmer with a longbow and quiver of arrows walked past with an armful of wood.

A blacksmith was hard at work making several tools for various purposes. And an old woman yelled at her son that she was _adamant _that she saw a dragon - she had no idea.

Gerdur, as she found out, was as tough as her brother, but just as kind allowing her and Ralof shelter in her home and sent her son to watch the main road so that they'd have a heads up if any Imperial soldiers came looking for them. Her husband, Hod, offered some mead that Ralof accepted, but she declined. She collapsed on the bed stuffed in the corner that served as Gerdur's son's bed, but for now it belonged to her and Ralof until further notice. She made no move when Ralof laid in open space beside her equally as exhausted. She was out like a light before anyone could voice their opinion of the two sharing the small bed.


End file.
